Liars And Angels
by sherlollymouse
Summary: Miz-Joely on tumblr received an anonymous question and I was inspired Is there a story where Mycroft is seriously hurt and/or killed protecting Sherlock; Molly and Anthea? (Sherlolly and Mythea if it has relationships) - this is the result.
1. Chapter 1

As he came to to the sound of blips and bleeps associated with hospital equipment, he knew the blurry figure was his brother before his vision cleared.

"Hello, brother, dear." Mycrofts voice was a bit dry and hoarse, he choked a bit on the words.

"Here." The younger Holmes was quick to offer him some water, which he took gratefully and drank greedily. "I thought you didn't have an aptitude for leg work."

"I don't." His voice was back, now, fully, but he gestured for Sherlock to fill the cup again. It was easy for him to deduce that his brother was a bit uncertain of how to proceed. He felt grateful and felt in his debt, but their relationship didn't leave a lot of room for sentiment. There was a slight, eager and nervous hop in Sherlock's step he was attempting to quell as he swallowed hard handing of the water.

"Thank you." Sherlock offered, quietly and in an uncharacteristicly small voice. Mycroft only nodded as he took a small drink before abandoning the glass on the table beside him.

"It's… what I do, Sherlock." He exhaled.

"Never like this."

"No… no, never like this… but, its par for the course."

Sherlocks lip twitched a bit before he spoke.

"Anthea is outside, would you like me to send her in?"

"Is she alone?"

"No, she's with Molly Hooper." Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"Not John Watson?" He'd immediately deduced that his brother had called in a friend for silent,moral support, but had expected it to be his doctor friend, not the pathologist. He missed things even less than Sherlock, but this, paired with their history, spoke volumes to Mycroft.

"John Watson has a baby at home."

"And a wife —"

"Who shouldn't be expected to care for her child alone, Mycroft." Sherlock quickly interrupted.

"Of course not."

"I'll go get Anthea for you." Before Mycroft to say another word, the door clicked shut. With a sigh, he laid himself against the hospital bed pillows, sighed, and gave the ceiling a small smile.


	2. Chapter 2

Molly Hooper immediately recognized Anthea as she strode into the hospital waiting area and called to her. Upon buying her attention, she waved her over.

"Molly." Anthea smiled, warmly, as she gave the pathologist a small hug.

"Mycrofts outlook looks well, considering." She told her, before breaking the hug and sitting down with her. "He just got out of surgery a bit ago. Should be alright." Molly caught Antheas heavy exhaled as the agent closed her eyes. "So…uh, you're his emergency contact."

"Yes," She nodded and smiled, immediately turning her attention to her phone.

"Bit odd… don't you think?" Molly was obviously prying, but, try as she might, poor Anthea had already given herself a bit away. "I mean, its usually family members… partners….friends."

"We work very close, we're friendly." Anthea defended herself, but didn't look up from her phone very long.

"Of course… I suppose that makes sense, I mean—"

"And what are you doing here?" Anthea flipped the conversation.

"Sherlock texted. Asked me to come down and told me what happened."

"Wheres John?"

"Home."

"Has Sherlock even rang him?"

"Don't think so,"

"Interesting…"

"-But, he prefers to text anyway." Molly attempted to keep her footing. She wasn't completely certain what Anthea was insinuating, but she wanted to avoid the conversation.

"You are the pathologist I remember? The one that helped Sherlock fake his death?" There was a hitch in Molly's breath before she answered.

"Yes."

"What makes you so important, Molly?"

"I —uh—"

"I mean, you help him with his job, you've gone out on cases with him…"

"Umm…"

"He asked you to help save his life."

"Well…"

"You and you alone." The pause was filled with Molly's long inhale.

"I don't know." She exhaled the words, carefully.

"Did he give you a reason?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"That I'm the one that matters the most." Anthea considered this a minute, her gaze steady and a bit formidable; reading Molly, she knew. But, the silence was broken by a familiar, and sometimes dreaded, voice.

"Mycroft has asked for you, Anthea." Sherlock bought both the girls attention.

"Thank you." The brunette smiled and left with the click of her dangerous stilettos echoing down the empty hall.

Molly hadn't meant to, but she realized she was still staring at Sherlock and, most confusing, he was staring right back.

"Coffee?" He asked and she responded with a nod.

"2 creams and a sugar, please." Without looking up, she grabbed a paper off a nearby table and began reading, holding her breath until she heard the sound of his Belstaff fluttering away.


	3. Chapter 3

Anthea never much liked 'd lost an older cousin she was close to when they were both really young. He was in his mid teens and she was barely pubescent. But, nonetheless, she smiled as her boss as she pressed the door closed behind her.

"How are you?" She asked, with as little emotion as she could muster. Mycroft wouldn't respond to that anyway.

"Been better." He groaned, sitting up in the bed.

"Good." The silence wasn't as comforting as it usually was between them. They didn't use a lot of words to communicate and certainly didn't talk about sentiment, so, when he let out another groan, she knew he had deduced her.

"I'm fine." Mycroft's mouth was tight as he spoke.

"Good." More silence and another sigh from him.

"You really need to stop with this nonsense, Anthea. You know it only gets in the way with our work."

"Of course, sir." Following his cue, she whipped out her phone and sat next to him. "I've already cleared everything off—"

"Why on earth would you do that?"

"Because you're laid up in hospital and you won't be any use at work sick. It's better to just take the time than have the chance of needing more time off again later." Her look was stern, she was challenging him to argue. After some thought, he relented.

"Fine." Casually, he waved his hand and took another drink of water.

"Now, what exactly have the doctors said?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing you want to share." She finished his statement.

"Don't worry about it, lets just decide what I can do from here." He reached over and adjusted his morphine drip.

"If thats what you want—"

"Yes." His teeth were gritted, he was serious. No more talk of the bullet he took and no discussion of any damage it might have caused.

"Ok, then." She retrieved a satchel that was beside his bed. He must have called for it somehow. Anthea could only assume Sherlock had retrieved it on his behalf. Calmly, she flipped through its contents and began rattling off the data and inquiring what actions should be taken for what. It was hard for her to ignore when he made a strained face, but she pressed on, as instructed.

"Anthea…"

"Now, do you want to…"

"Anthea…" His voice was strained, she stopped and looked up.

"Mycroft?"

"Doctor,now." He barely got out before the machines started making urgent noises and his face twisted in pain.


	4. Chapter 4

It could be anything. Anything at all. Anthea didn't pay much mind to the storm going on around her, she didn't want to interfere. All she knew was that she was gripping the chair so tight, digging her nails in underneath the seat on the both sides, that her pain response should have been triggered. Oddly, it wasn't. She felt nothing.

Trying to keep her mind together, she was focusing on fixed point on the wall in front of her as they wheeled Mycroft off, rushing away in the opposite direction. She should have heard the thundering feet of the Sherlock pounding down the hall, but she didn't. She wasn't even sure she could see him… Honestly, she needed to get herself together first, why wouldn't he just go away?

Sherlock wasn't sure what he had expected when he texted Molly to sit with him, but this wasn't it. Maybe, even though she never showed any signs of it, he expected her to stay close… uncomfortably close. He had expected to have to create distance between them physically or ask her, non verbally of course, not to hug him or hold his hand. But, she did none of that.

And he wasn't sure he was happy about that.

Did he, maybe, want her to offer him physical comfort? A proverbial and literal shoulder to cry on?

No, after all, that just wasn't him. He didn't need that did he?

Politely, he set her coffee on the table in front of her, where she sat pretending to read and enjoy a magazine article on safari's.

"Thank you." Molly passed him a sweet smile as she picked up the coffee and took a few big swallows.

"You're welcome." He nodded. "So…uh— safari's?" She held it so tight to her face, he'd practically had to lay his head on her shoulder to see the headline.

"Yes."

"Oh— you… ever been?"

"No."

"Could be fun." Molly passed him a funny look before a knowing expressionswept through and she laid the magazine down.

"Sorry."

"For what?" He asked, knowing full well she was apologizing for trying to brush him off.

"Are you alright? And I don't want you to say you are just to put my mind at ease. I know better." Feeling his breath hitch, he took a swig of coffee before answering.

"I actually am alright I just…" almost silently, he cleared his throat. "didn't want to be alone… with my brother, who just took a bullet for me and …. Anthea."

"Whats wrong with Anthea?"

"Nothing, she just—" Sherlock swirled his coffee in the paper cup a bit. "well, she likes my brother and— my brother isn't,… you know Mycroft."

"It makes you uncomfortable to be around both of them at the same time?"

"Not usually. But, in a situation like this it's not preferable." He sighed. "You know I don't like to do this." Even though she was looking right at him, Sherlock was looking everywhere else but at her. The cup in his hand, the floor, the far wall… everywhere but at Molly.

"I know."

"I'm — scared, Molly. I am human and I care deeply for my older brother, despite our complicated relationship and I don't want to loose him. Specifically, I don't want to loose him and it be my fault."

"Thank you." The tone of her voice finally bought his attention and when he felt her hand wrap around his wrist, he didn't even try to fight it off, he smiled. "You know its alright to feel that way and I'm glad you want me to sit with you while you do."

"Thank you." Although, he was certain they could've had more of a moment, her hand left his wrist and her eyes darted to the hallway.

"Are those noises coming from Mycrofts room, Sherlock?" She asked. He felt his heart sink as he got to his feet and walked to the corridor, with her by his side.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock fought back panic as he realized, immediately, that Anthea was in shock.

"Molly, can you get her some water, please?" He asked. "Theres a pitcher and some cups in the room."

Molly didn't question Sherlock, just did as he asked. She realized as she poured the water, she, again, heard the flutter of his belstaff and was surprised to find that he'd merely draped it over Anthea when she returned.

"They— they—um— give blankets to people in shock, so I—" Molly brushed him off with a nod and offered the cup to Anthea. For a moment, nothing seemed to register with the woman, but she was soon sipping at the water and taking deep breaths.

"How are you feeling?" Molly asked, placing the back of her hand against Anthea's forehead.

"I'm ok now, thank you." Her voice was polite but suggested some frustration with being fussed over. After all, Molly understood that. Anthea was in a mans job, she was probably use to not showing any form of weakness, even when it was understandable.

"What happened?" Sherlocks tone was calm.

"I'm not sure, but everything started going off… I should have… I guess I… I don't know…"Anthea sighed, rubbing her face. Cautiously, Sherlock laid his hand on her shoulder.

"Its— its alright, Anthea. It'll be alright."

"You don't know that!" She pushed away his hand and stood up. "You know as well as I do that this could go either way and it does no good to blow smoke up my ass, it'll just make it worse if…." She stopped and waved the thought away. "Just don't, Sherlock. Just don't." Anthea turned and, again, her exit was accompanied by the clicks of her heels echoing off the walls.

"Sherlock—" Molly whispered, laying her hand on his shoulder blade. "Are you alright? Do you want to talk?"

"No." Without another word, he retrieved his belstaff from the floor and left her in the hall. A heavy sigh left her lips as she pinched the bridge off her nose, contemplating her next move.

—

He wasn't sure how far he'd walked, and he was certain it wouldn't feel far enough but would do as he slipped into an alley and lit the cigarette.

The inhale he took was a bit heavy and nearly gave him a headache, but he desperately missed smoking and refused to not enjoy the odd one he chose to partake in.

Sherlock wasn't good at this. He much preferred it when he didn't feel. When things got emotionally complicated, he always ended in dark alleys, although, he was usually doing something harder and more taboo then simple tobacco.

Before long, he found he finished the first one and the rain finally registered with him.

It was cold and insistent he pulled up his collar and hunched himself as he pulled out a second cig and began fondle for his lighter. It soon dawned on him he'd dropped it and found it laying in a puddle beside.

He cursed for a moment, examining it. It wasn't destroyed, but it was too damp to work at the moment.

He was about to give up when a flick and a glow bought his attention and he leaned into the flame of the lighter in Mollys and hid beneath the shelter of her umbrella.

"If you're going to give yourself cancer," she said, "you could at least try to avoid a cold in the process."


	6. Chapter 6

There were no tears now. Her face had even dried from the droplets of rain that had showered her just moments ago as she paraded herself down the street to this musty and smelly pub.

Mycroft is a jackass. Anthea thought, pounding another shot and whipping her mouth.

"I'll have another pint now." She announced to the bartender, setting her shot glass to the side.

All these years, she had practically take care of Mycroft; mere steps below whipping spittle from his chin. So much energy put into this man out of love and friendship that, though she wasn't sure why, she often hoped would grow into more. Something about Mycroft had called to her as she gradually grew closer. They didn't have to talk; their relationship was already that intimate.

Fueled on beer and several shots she shouldn't have had, she placed her money on the bar and strode out; head high and steps determined.

Much like Mycroft, Sherlock also needed emotional coddling and goading. As Molly took the cigarette from between Sherlock's fingers, she sucked in the finally hit before allowing it to splash into the puddle at their feet.  
>"Its time to go back in, Sherlock. Three is more then enough." He didn't argue as he followed her back in and they made their way to the elevator.<br>"You know, I always thought i understood why people want to believe in a god and the afterlife. Silly things like their dead relatives popping round for a visit…" Sherlock swallowed and the elevator doors slid open.  
>"And…?" She inquired, carefully.<br>"Now, I do." He whispered, pushing past her and gliding down the hall to the waiting room only to pace.

Anthea was finally just the right amount of angry. No matter what was going to happen, she could weather it. After all, it wasn't her fault he was… how he is. In the elevator, she took the few seconds to brush off her suit and adjust herself in the mirrored doors.  
>"Fucking Mycroft." She exhaled and a cool breeze flowed from the AC in the corridor.<br>He would hear her, she knew, if he was fine, and he would be, right? Yes. Of course he would.  
>Her heels were going to give her away and she didn't care.<br>She ignored the calls of Molly Hooper as she motored on through the waiting room. Anthea couldn't have stopped if she wanted, but she could the pathologist and the brother puttering after her, attempting to catch to up.  
>Bursting through the room, she saw he was conscious as she turned to the doctor.<br>"Is he going to be alright?" The doctor only stuttered, pulling through paperwork and asking her name. "Nevermind." She dismissed him, pulling her self on the bed, straddling Mycroft and smashing her lips against his. He returned it, to her surprise. Pulling back, she met his face. "Are you alright?" When he didn't respond, she pulled him close. They didn't need to speak.  
>Molly's breath hitched as she watched the display and felt Sherlocks fingers string through hers.<br>"We should go." He whispered, softly, and pulled her toward the door.


End file.
